Healthy Diet: Part 1

The Resolution Diary: One Man's Quest To Change His Diet

A few months ago, on this very website, I wrote an article about my diet, which I described as being similar to that of a pre-diabetic latchkey kid. And, let me tell you, a more accurate description than that could not have been made. The point of the piece was that, at 30 years old, I needed to not only start eating a more healthy diet, but also lead a healthier lifestyle overall. But, unfortunately, life didn't imitate art. And, after the publication of that article, I didn't start eating better. If anything, I started eating worse.

Much to my chagrin, staying up until 4 a.m. every night, watching It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia reruns and eating Munchos does not a healthy guy make. Hell, two weeks ago I walked into a 24-hour supermarket at 2 a.m. because I had a craving for a homemade Chipwich. I’m serious. There I was, a (now) 31-year-old man, wearing sh*tty sweatpants, no less, shopping for cookies and ice cream in the wee hours of a Tuesday morn.

Turned on yet, ladies?

Historically, willpower just isn’t one of my strong points. If I want something, for better or worse, I usually find a way to justify my indulgence. It’s one of my weaker qualities, of which I, admittedly, have many. But this time I’m serious.

In 2013, I will start eating better.

I generally see New Year’s resolutions as a way to crack a joke. Like, I’ll promise to grow a more beautiful, luxurious beard or vow to make out with Tiffani Amber Thiessen by year's end. But, cheesy as this may sound, as you get older, you realize your health simply isn’t a joke. The way I see it, your body is like a car. If you routinely get inspections, rotate your tires and change your oil, you can drive that sucker for decades. But if you choose to pump it full of potato skins and Cinnabon, it turns into a pile of crap that winds up being sold for scrap.

Call me crazy, but I’d rather be a ‘57 Chevy than a junkyard bumper.

So ever since the start of 2013, I, someone who formally ate like a pregnant chick training for a pie-eating contest, have genuinely switched up my diet. I’m not gonna lie: It hasn’t been easy, but so far so good. In fact, I just ate a salad — a salad I made myself! Which is a serious change of pace. Previously, if someone asked me if I wanted a salad, I’d look at them like they just asked for my mom’s hand in marriage.

And what am I drinking with this shockingly tasty salad? Oh, just some juice — that I made my motherf*cking self, son! Yup, this past weekend, I randomly decided to kick this resolution up a notch and went to Bed, Bath & Beyond to buy myself a state-of-the-art juicer. See, I hate wasting money. So I decided that if I invested in a juicer, which isn’t cheap, I’d be more inclined to use the thing. My theory is that for every healthy juice drink I make, that’s one milkshake I won’t suck down. And so far this theory has proven to be right on the money. I haven’t even tried juicing a Twinkie yet! I swear! As I type this, I’m currently drinking a mix of green apples, pears, beets and kale. And lo and behold, I actually like it.

And guess what? I already feel better. Honestly, I do. I’m not quite sure if it’s a false sense of healthiness brought on by my childlike pride at doing something I know is good for me, but nonetheless, over the last few days, my energy levels have been off the charts. I feel rejuvenated. It sounds so cliché, but eating in a way that makes you live longer just makes you feel that much more alive. Thus far, I really dig it.

I really like the way I feel right now, and I don’t want it to stop.

Will I keep it up? Who the hell knows? It’s still so early in the year. I have plenty of time left to disappoint myself. Something I’ve been known to do in spades. I’m only human. All I can say is that, as of right now, I feel entirely committed to following the path I’m currently on. Kale ain’t so bad.

And, guys, I mean this: If I can do it, anyone can. Anyone. I’m serious, I know dogs who lead healthier lifestyles than I do. Stray dogs. And stray dogs eat… sh*t.